A Slave of Your Own
by Raxacoriocofallapatorius
Summary: Clara has gone missing and the Doctor visits London's greatest consulting detective for help. In the middle of investigation Sherlock, John, and the Doctor are taken themselves. Meanwhile, Sam and Dean visit London to help a friend of the recently deceased Bobby and end up getting taken as they draw too close to the truth. Now they must team up to escape... Rated T just to be safe.
1. An Old, New Client

**Okay. So this is my first Superwholock. I hope you enjoy it. I'm horrible at summaries, so I'm sorry if you're unsure about this. I do believe it will be good. Sorry that this chapter is so short. Most others will be longer. The Doctor and Clara are up to date, Sherlock and John are just pre-Fall, and Sam and Dean are JUST after Bobby's death. Enjoy and please review. :)**

John was just getting out of the shower when he heard it. It was the oddest noise, a whirring, whooshing sound followed by a solid thud. John donned a pair of trunks, wrapped his robe securely around himself, and walked down the hall while using his towel to dry his short hair.

"Sherlock? What was that noise? Is the telly on too loud or was it just one of your bloody experi-" John trailed off. In the center of the living room, just past his and Sherlock's chairs, stood an imposing blue box. Anger quickly curled in John's stomach. He turned towards his flatmate who was simply staring out the window and inhaled deeply. But before he could get a word out, Sherlock turned to him, eyes blazing.

"A client has just arrived, John. Isn't it customary for you to make tea? He should like his with milk and two sugars, though of course his preferences could have changed. But I very much doubt that." Sherlock gave a sharp chuckle. "And none for me." As he talked, Sherlock made his way around the blue Police Box and sat in his chair, fingers steepled just below his nose. "Close your mouth, John. It makes you look like an idiot." John silently complied and made his way to the kitchen to put the kettle on. When he came back with the tea, a man was sitting on the couch. _The client_, John assumed.

The client was tall and lanky with long brown hair that was parted on the side and created a wave of thick locks over his high forehead. He had a handsome face, even with a large chin and nonexistent eyebrows, and an expressive mouth that was, at the moment, pressed into a thin line. He wore the oddest clothes, though. Along with simple leather boots and brown pants, the man wore a tweed jacket with elbow patches. He was leaning forward, resting his arms on his knees, so his crisp white shirt and vest were visible, as well as the fob that probably connected to a pocket watch. The whole outfit was completed with a blue bowtie.

John nodded a hello and gave a small smile as he handed the man his tea. He then situated himself across from Sherlock in his normal armchair. When the silence continued, broken only by small sips of tea, John cleared his throat to pull Sherlock out of his reverie.

His friend blinked and looked up, excitement burning in his blue-green eyes. "Doctor," Sherlock said, turning to the man. "To what do I owe the pleasure? It's been awhile since we've last talked. Or," he added, "it has been for me. Glad to see you haven't changed." Sherlock gave the man a small smile that, while almost nonexistent, was sincere.

John looked between the two of them, surprise written openly on his face. "Oh, so you know this man?" John asked. He gestured to the stranger on the couch, who sat, grim-faced, drinking his tea like he was sucking on a lemon.

"Yes, John. Obviously I know the man," Sherlock said. "I greeted him with familiarity and his name and told you how he liked his tea." He turned back to the stranger, prepared to fire off another question.

"Hold on," John interrupted. "I didn't hear a name."

"I said his name, John. You just weren't paying enough attention," Sherlock insisted. John raised his eyebrows, frowning. "Doctor, John, his name is the Doctor."

"'The Doctor'? That's not familiar. It's a title. But not a name." He looked at Sherlock expectantly. "Doctor who?"

"Nothing." John jumped when the man on the couch spoke up. "It's just 'The Doctor'. Forever and always." He gave John another tight-lipped smile. "I'd say 'Nice to see you again, John' but it appears you haven't met me yet, so I'll stick with 'Nice to meet you again, John'." The Doctor took a long drink of tea before setting the empty cup on the table in front of him. He then turned to Sherlock, his grey eyes wide. Sherlock returned the gaze, the energy humming beneath his skin escaping through his own eyes.

"I need your help finding my friend. You know me, Sherlock. I usually don't ask for help, but I…" The Doctor choked, his eyes falling to his lap. He took a deep breath. "I usually travel with a companion and, even though I love them all dearly, they end up leaving me. One way or another… Anyway, my most recent companion's name is Clara Oswald." The Doctor gave a soft smile. "She's clever and kind and actually LISTENS when I say 'stay put'!" The smile sagged, broken like a crooked picture frame. "And usually staying put's a good thing but…" The Doctor seemed at a loss for words as the silence dragged on. Sherlock leaned forward in his seat and motioned for him to continue.

"If you need my help, you need to tell me what happened. To the best of your memory, and I know your memory is the best," Sherlock said gently. John looked over at him with surprise. He seemed sincere and John had never heard Sherlock genuinely talk to someone with that much care. Ever. Most of the time it was a sham to get into a building or a bit of information.

The Doctor nodded and took a deep breath before finally saying, "It's Clara. She's been taken. I don't know why. I don't know by whom or to where. All I know is she's gone and I don't know how to get her back."

**(A/N: I am SO sorry that I didn't realize that part of my story had been cut. I don't know what happened and I'm sorry it took so long to fix it. I hope the transition makes more sense now. *sheepish grin*)**


	2. Eclipse

**(A/N: For such a short chapter, I've had a surprisingly large amount of views and reviews and it makes me happy I could burst. Anyways, here's the second installment of my Superwholock. I hope you like it. And, per usual, feel free to review. :D)**

Sherlock leaned back in his chair, eyes alight with excitement. "Doctor," he said less gently than before, "you need to tell me what happened if you want Clara found." The Doctor nodded solemnly and John reached for his notepad and pen.

"Yesterday, we left for a planet called Eclipse about twenty years back, before their civil war destroyed half their moons," the Doctor began. "Clara had wanted a surprise this time and I figured that Eclipse would be a safe bet." (After the first few words, John's pen had stilled and with each passing second, his mouth seemed to drop lower.) "You see, Eclipse has over 214 moons and moonlets and is about the size of Mars. It's a part of a binary system with a Red Giant and a White Dwarf at its center." Sherlock nodded in understanding, as if it were the most ordinary story. John simply stared at the two of them, mouth agape.

"That," the Doctor continued, "coupled with the fact that over 85 percent of the planet is land, there is almost always and eclipse occurring, be it solar or lunar. We were having a right jolly time, sipping on tea and eating Jammy Dodgers. But, of course, trouble arose." The Doctor paused a moment, eyes falling to his lap again.

John held up a questioning hand.

"Your name is the Doctor. Fine. I can handle that," John's voice was growing cold and clipped, a sure sign of irritation or anger. "Sherlock knows and obviously cares for you." (Sherlock scoffed at this) "Well obvious to me, at least. And that's great. Fantastic. I'm always saying Sherlock needs more mates." He took a deep breath. "What I'm having trouble swallowing is the fact that you seem to believe you can travel through space. Is that right? Have I misheard something?" John raised his hands expectantly. The Doctor remained silent.

"Space and time." Sherlock corrected.

"_What?_"

Sherlock pulled his hands out from under his nose and folded them casually across his lap.  
"He travels through space _and_ time," Sherlock repeated slowly. He despised being repetitious unless it was for an experiment. Even then he didn't like it too much. "'Yesterday, we left for a planet called Eclipse about twenty years back' he said," Sherlock quoted. "Do pay attention, John."

John threw his hands up in defeat and slumped back into his chair. "Space _and_ time. Right. Okay." He turned to the Doctor. "How?"

The Doctor gave a wide smile, sorrow quickly dropping from his features; all except his eyes. There was a sorrow in those eyes. But as he quickly leaped to his feet you could forget that sorrow, and as he jumped over the coffee table, the Doctor slid to stand proudly by the blue box and smiled. There he spun around on his heel and lightly patted the corner of the box,

"This," he said, "is the TARDIS. Time And Relative Dimensions In Space. T-A-R-D-I-S. My ship." The Doctor gave the TARDIS a wet smooch before turning to grin goofily at John.

"You travel," John stated slowly. "In a Police Box. Through space and time."

The Doctor nodded, smile wide and hands twisted together.

"Right. Okay." John clapped his hands on his thighs as he rose from his seat. "I'm going to leave now, because there's too much crazy I this room."

Sherlock sighed. "John-"

"No! You," he pointed viciously at Sherlock, "you couldn't handle the idea of the hound. You wouldn't even toy with the possibility of its existence. You _drugged_ me to prove it didn't exist!

"Oh, John," Sherlock inclined his head, in that moment looking very much his older brother. "Still not letting that go?"

"But this mad man," John continued as if Sherlock had said naught a word, nary a syllable, "with a big blue box and a bowtie comes sauntering in her and tells you he can travel through time and space and you just go along with it?!" John waited, watching Sherlock, chest heaving.

"John," his voice was emotionless. "I've met the Doctor before. Trust me when I say that I went through denial initially as well." (John began to calm, his breath evening out and his shoulders lowering just a fraction.) "But, the Doctor needs our help and we should focus on that for now." John slowly nodded, lowering himself into his chair. Sherlock turned to the Doctor who was once again sitting on the couch. "Now, Doctor, you said trouble arose?"

His earlier excitement was completely absent and his shoulders were lowered as if bearing a heavy weight. He nodded slowly. "Yes. Trouble arose. We were headed back to the TARDIS having seen the centennial quintuplet eclipse. Clara was so excited. She had decided she wanted to go to a vacation planet, the one where you go into a virtual reality chamber and choose your scenery and climate. She was planning on asking for a mountain range with a beach climate," the Doctor gave a weak chuckle at the memory. "But we heard a scream and were almost bowled over by a fleeing woman."

"And you felt you had to investigate," Sherlock interjected. The Doctor nodded.

"The High Priestess of Eclipse had been poisoned. Fatally so." John drew a sharp intake of breath. "Fortunately, I was able to reprogram the nanobots within the poison, disabling it instead of causing the poison to catalyze. The woman who had run into us was the official taster. When she had tasted the food and had been unaffected while the Priestess fell, she feared for her life. I gave her a quick once over with my Sonic Screwdriver and proved to the guards that she had the poison in her, but the nanobots had simply lain dormant instead of activating the poison, therefore clearing her name."

John let out a light sigh of relief, engrossed in the story.

"Upon analyzing of the poison, I found it to be a product of the Kobrista tree, a plant that can only be found on a planet within the Medusa Cascade, a system five galaxies away. However, the nanos themselves were manufactured on Eclipse. Clara and I were getting close to the accomplice that programmed the nanos, but I knew that confronting him would be dangerous. I've lost so many friends, so I was cautious and told her to wait in the hallway outside the kitchen." The Doctor paused, a painful look dancing across his features. "I returned not a minute later to find her gone." He grew quiet, head bowed and hands clasped tightly in his lap.

"Is it possible she could have wandered off?" John asked softly. "I mean, new planet, beautiful world? I probably wouldn't stay still for long."

Sherlock shook his head, eyes trained on the Doctor. "He did think that. Spent," Sherlock paused, considering for a minute, "around an hour searching for her before returning to where she disappeared." The Doctor nodded again.

"I couldn't find Clara anywhere on the island. I went back to the hallway and scanned where I left her. I found traces of a transmatter ray and tracked it to its origin." The Doctor took a deep breath. "Unfortunately, it was an area of high traffic and whomever took her had moved on." His voice grew dangerously low, "And not just through space, no. If it was just through space, I could've tracked them easily enough. They had shot forward through time. I couldn't tell how far they went, or where they would go, but I knew they went forward."

John's pen stilled again. "Doctor," he began. "I'm not sure we can be any use to you. Sherlock _is_ good, but," John gave a small shrug, "not that good. No one's that good."

The Doctor turned his head. "Sherlock is it possible I could take you…" He turned to Sherlock and stopped. Sherlock had, for all intent and purposes, fallen asleep in his chair. His head was rolled back, mouth slightly open. Confused, the Doctor turned to John. "Does he ever-" but John was also asleep, his fist supporting his head. The Doctor stood and tried to make his way to the TARDIS, but his limbs were uncooperative. Heavy. He only managed to trip over the coffee table and crawl halfway before his world grew dark.


	3. A job finally

**(A/N: I know it's kinda slow to start (and I seriously fudged up with that first chapter. Sorry about that...), but I promise it'll get good. :) I just hope you stick around enough to see how much it grows. :3 A special thanks to my beta, whose fanfic name completely eludes me at the moment. I hope she forgives me for being so forgetful... Sorry. Enjoy. :D And, as always, read and review.)**

Sam Winchester trudged out of his room, yawning deeply. He walked into the kitchen where he shuffled around, getting the morning coffee ready. As soon as there was enough, Sam poured himself a mug and took a sip. He sighed appreciatively as the warmth filled him. Coffee, black and bitter. Just how he liked it. He refilled his mug before making his way into the living room, but stopped in the doorway.

Dean didn't even glance up from the laptop screen. It was obvious from his bloodshot eyes, and the deep purple beneath them, that he'd been up all night. On the computer. Again. Sam sighed and shook his head, finally walking in and sitting down on the couch behind Dean.

"So," Sam said between sips, "are you still searching Dick?" Dean jolted and glanced over his shoulder at Sam who simply raised his eyebrows. "Or were you just searching dick?" The lack of capitalization wasn't too obvious, but it wasn't lost on Dean.

"You're a dick," he growled as he turned back to the computer. "And what I do is none of your business." Sam sighed again and stood. He quietly made his way over to stand behind Dean.

Without looking, Sam already knew what Dean was doing. He shook his head. "Just because you switch the screen to 'Big Busty Asians' doesn't mean I don't know you're keeping tabs on Dick Roman." Dean said nothing, but switched back to what he was working one before, scouring the Roman Enterprise's website. Sam sighed again, "Come on, man. I know this asshole killed Bobby, but what you're doing, Dean, it's bordering on obsession. It's not healthy." Still Dean said nothing. A muffled ringing broke the extended silence.

Dean looked up at Sam and said flatly, "Aren't you going to get that?" Sam gave him a dark look, but went to go pick it up. He walked over to Bobby's old desk. It wasn't one of the general phones, so it couldn't be Garth calling for FBI "conformation" or anyone asking for information. It was muffled so it must be a cell phone in his desk. Sam deftly opened the drawer and dug through the clutter before finding the phone. Glancing at the number, Sam was surprised to find it was an international call.

He quickly answered, "Hello?"

"Oh. Hullo. Is, um, Bobby there?" the voice was female and obviously British. "Could you tell him it's Abby Wilson?"

"Uh. I'm sorry, Abby. Bobby, um," Sam cleared his throat. This was always hard and the wound was still fresh. "Bobby passed away recently. Sorry."

"Oh…" The voice, Abby, grew silent for a minute. "It's just that I had a problem and I was hoping Bobby could help."

"Well maybe I can help," Sam offered quickly. The last week he and Dean had been holed up in Bobby's house with nothing to do beside simply mourn. At this point, anything would be a relief, hunting related or not. "My brother and I were close to Bobby. He taught us so much. So much…" Sam grew quiet, lost in memories. "Sorry. I'm Sam, by the way."

"Sam? As in Sam Winchester?" Abby sounded surprised if not awed. "And your brother being Dean?"

"Yeah," Sam said uncertainly.

"Fantastic!" Abby nearly shouted. "Perfect! If Bobby is," she paused, "indisposed, I couldn't think of anyone better to help me with this."

Sam smiled. "I'm glad. Um," he began walking into the living room, so Dean could hear at least half the conversation. "How exactly do you know about us?"

Abby laughed lightly. "I'm sorry. Well a couple of years ago, I was a part of a student exchange programme. One weekend I was driving down an empty road with no idea where I was. I was about to turn around when my car randomly died. It wasn't out of petrol or anything, but the engine just cut off. My mobile had no signal. I was stranded in the middle of nowhere in the middle of Nevada." She said Nevada like it had an "er" at the end.

Sam groaned, "Oh no. That should never happen."

"I know, right?" Abby laughed lightly again. "My next big mistake was that I got out of the car."

Sam groaned louder. "Oh, Abby, no! Don't you watch horror films? Never get out of your car on an abandoned road in the middle of nowhere. Night or not." Dean's head perked up at Abby's name, interest piqued.

"Well I know that _now,_ but I had to learn it the hard way." Abby's smile was obvious, even over the phone. "Anyways, I was alone and lost on an abandoned road in the middle of nowhere. Having nowhere to go but forwards, I decided to go back the way I came. I was walking maybe two minutes before I was nearly bowled over by a little girl. Her hair was wet and stringy, her eyes were wild, and her dress was in tatters and filthy." Dean mouthed the question 'Girl?' while cupping his hands in front of his chest, eyebrows raised. Sam simply mouthed 'stop' with a glare.

"She told me," Abby continued, "that a hairy monster was after her and we had to run. I squatted and told her that there were no such things as monsters. But she began to cry and insist that there were. I was about to give her a hug when a deep, gravelly voice behind me said, 'Don't touch her!' I heard the sound of a shotgun cocking. Most terrifying moment of my life. I complied by backing up and turning around slowly. I saw a dirty, old drunk with a tattered hat and dusty beard. His mouth was pulled back in a grimace as he said, 'Back away from the … little girl.' I stepped to the side off the road, keeping my hands raised, but he kept the gun trained on the child." Abby paused, collecting her thoughts. "I was so furious at him for threatening a little girl like that. I took two steps towards him when he said, 'Get behind me,' without a glance my way.

"The lack of menace in his voice surprised me so much that I stopped in my track. 'Get away from her! QUICK!' he roared at me. I turned to look back at the girl. She sort of, I don't know… flickered and reappeared right before me, a horrid grin splitting her face. Without a second thought, he shot her and she disappeared in a wisp of smoke." Abby gave a weak laugh. "I was in shock. Bobby, as he introduced himself, led me to his car, drove me to a nearby shack, and told me to sit still in a circle of salt till he returned in a few hours." The line went silent for a minute.

"Abby? A-are you okay?" Sam was concerned, but felt a wave of relief flood him when he heard soft sniffling. "Oh, Abby. I'm sorry."

"It's okay. Really," Abby took a shuddering breath. "It's just, after that day, after he saved me from that ghost, Bobby became a very close friend. I'm studying to be a historian, so I have academic access to some older texts that aren't usually for public use. Bobby would call me up occasionally for some help with research, but mostly he would call just to chat and check in." Abby sniffled a few times before breathing deeply. "Once. We'd met once and he still kept tabs on me. It just… We grew close quickly. I think he was lonely and I was open and understanding enough. I don't know."

Abby exhaled slowly. "Anyways, Bobby told me all about his boys. Sam and Dean Winchester, his greatest achievement. Heh. He was real proud of you two." Sam smiled, his own eyes tearing. "But from what he said, I'm sure you chaps are more than qualified to help me."

"Well how can we help?" Sam quickly wiped his eyes clear. "Any friend of Bobby is a friend of ours."

"Another hunter here in England had found out through Bobby that I was a reliable source. Gerald me and we became a sort of team. I would provide the research and he would do the legwork. Just today, he was on the trail of a possible werewolf, but a clever one. He called me to ask if there were any disappearances or strange deaths reported in the London area. W-we were throwing locations back and forth when suddenly there was a loud clatter and… nothing." Abby began to grow frantic. Her voice rose, high pitched and breathy. "No dial tone, no screams, no noise, no Gerald. Just nothing."

"Abby. Abby! Calm down." Sam tried to keep his voice even. "I need details. When did this happen? Was the phone's GPS turned on? Were you able to locate the cell phone?" Sam frantically motioned for Dean to give him a pad and pen to write with.

Abby took a few deep breaths before answering, "It happened at 8:37am, Greenwich time. The GPS was turned on the entire time; I like to keep tabs on Gerald. I went to Central London and found the phone. It was on the ground, but not damaged." The sound of shuffling papers filtered through the phone. "I also checked out the site and cross referenced it with all supernatural disappearances in the area. I couldn't find any matches whatsoever." She began to sound frantic again.

"Abby, listen to me. Dean and I will help in any way we can, okay?" Sam said, trying to smile.

"Great," Abby sounded calmer. "Fantastic. When can I expect you over here?"

"Expect us… where?" Sam was confused.

"Over here in England, of course."

"In England?" Sam's eyes grew wide and Dean abruptly stood and dashed to the computer. "I'm sorry, Abby. I know I said we would help but, Dean doesn't really do planes and-"

"Expect us there tomorrow at the latest." Dean had snatched the phone from Sam.

"Oh, hullo," Abby sounded pleased. "You must be Dean."

"Yeah. Hi Abby," Dean said, rushed. "Listen, is this a number that we can use to contact you when we reach England?"

"Yes, this is my personal mobile."

"Good. We'll text you the details of our flight later. Bye, Abby. See you there." With that, Dean snapped the flip phone shut. He turned to face Sam who was staring him down. "What?" he shrugged.

"England, Dean. As in the United Kingdom." Sam's voice was leaden with suspicion. "As in over the sea. In an airplane. For at least 12 hours," Sam chuckled darkly, "give or take a time zone."

"You know what else England means Sammy?" Dean gestured towards the window. "British girls. A whole plethora of chicks that haven't met me yet!"

"I'm just surprised you know how to used 'plethora' properly in a sentence," Sam snickered. "But seriously, Dan. If this has anything to do with Dick…" Dean gave Sam a hard look. Sam sighed in return, shaking his head. "Fine. Let's go book a flight and see if we can get there at a sensible time."


	4. On Their Way

**(A/N: This, my dear readers, is a bit of a filler chapter. Mayhaps a bit of fluff, but all it really does is set up backstory and connections between the characters. And a few laughs. Well... I laughed. I hope you do too. :D Anywho, major thanks to my beta, Doctor Whobbit, for all her support and advise and betaing. Keep up the good work. And for all my readers, enjoy. :3)**

Sam swung his duffle over his shoulder as he snatched his shoes out of the tray. He made his way to the benches and dropped his duffle on the floor before lowering himself down. While tugging his shoes on, Sam glanced back to see Dean being pulled aside, the accompanying security guard carrying Dean's bag. When Dean noticed Sam's glance, he simply shrugged. The message was clear: 'C'est la vie.' Sam could only shake his head and sigh.

The entire trip had been tense and uncomfortable. They hadn't had the time to buy adjacent seats so Sam had spent a majority of the trip twisting around to see how Dean was faring. Sam had known about Dean's fear of flying for a while now, but it always shocked him to see Dean so terrified. Dean himself had remained rigid against the seat for most of the flight, only moving to hyperventilate into the barf-bag.

But that's what aroused Sam's suspicion in the first place. Dean absolutely despised planes. Couldn't stand them. The only other time he'd seen Dean fly on short notice was to get to Crowley's bones as leverage for Bobby. Sam suspects Dean is doing this for the same reason: Bobby. Just to have evidence to support his suspicions, Sam used the plane's Wi-Fi and, sure enough, Richard "Dick" Roman was on a business trip to the UK.

At first Sam was angry, pissed even, that Dean would lie to him. Then he was just disappointed. Dean didn't seem to think that Sam could help or should know. He was just being "Do-it-yourself Dean" like he always is. Even during their hardest time to date, Dean had to protect Sam. And he didn't know what to do about it.

"Hey!" Dean's voice pulled Sam out of his silent musings. He looked up at Dean looming over him. "Are you coming or not? We've got a date with a hot British chick and I don't want to be any more late than we are. Come on."

Sam obliged and stood. Soon they were through baggage claim and were waiting outside for Abby to pull around and pick them up. They walked over to a couple benches and sat on the only empty one. Sam sat silently in deep thought, but Dean looked over, noticing the giggling girls that sat to his right. He gave them a winning smile and waved and was rewarded with another fit of shy giggles. Dean chuckled softly to himself and was about to introduce himself but was interrupted by Sam smacking his shoulder.

Dean gave Sam a glare, but stood when his brother indicated the car that had come to a stop in front of them. Sam leaned over and lightly tapped on the glass thrice. The window rolled down to reveal a smiling woman. She had soft round cheeks, but a pointed chin. Her eyes were large and deep brown with long lashes. Her curly red hair was pulled back into a ponytail.

"Sam? Dean?" She asked, her voice instantly familiar. Both nodded and Dean gave Abby a winning smile. "Fantastic. Get in."

Sam opened the back door and slid inside expecting Dean to follow, but Dean dashed around the front and sat in the passenger seat. Grumbling under his breath, Sam stretched and shut the door. Up in the front, Dean looked over at Abby and gave another killer smile. She smiled back, blushing slightly, before checking the back seat where Sam was sitting.

"Everybody buckled? Yes? Good. Let's go." Abby quickly pulled off the curb and into traffic. Dean kept glancing outside, to Abby, back at Sam, and then outside again. Sam fidgeted, the awkwardness feeding off the silence and Dean's restlessness. Seconds later, it was too much.

Sam cleared his throat. "So," he said, clapping his hands together and leaning forward. "Abby. What do you have for us?"

Abby gave a small jump, as if she'd been lost in thought. "Right, sorry." She reached into the side of the door and pulled out a blue accordion folder. Handing it to Dean, Abby said, "Gerald was right at the intersection of Park Road and Baker Street when he said he saw something. Against my better judgement, he changed direction and, instead of heading down Allsop Place, he turned onto Baker Street." Dean had opened the folder and was thumbing through its contents. He skimmed past most of the written information, that was Sam's forte, but he stopped and quickly pulled out a glossy sheet.

"Is this Gerald?" he asked, holding up the page. On it was an image of a man who you wouldn't spare a thought on if you passed him in the street. In every way Abby was fiery and alive, Gerald was simple and dull. His hair was cut short and was a sort of muddy-water color, almost dirty blonde but too brown. His small, grey eyes were hidden behind simple black specs. Probably the most memorable aspect of Gerald was his ears that stuck out at an almost 180 degree angle. Abby nodded and Dean bit back a laugh. "Doesn't look like much," he snorted.

Abby slammed on the brakes at a stoplight. She turned and glared at Dean. "I asked you here expecting you to be professional and help, but if you're incapable of doing as such, I'll gladly drop you back off at the airport." She turned her burning gaze to Sam in the backseat before looking back at Dean. "Am I clear?" she bit out each word. Both nodded dumbly. "Good," Abby turned her attention back to the road. "As I was saying, he'd dashed down Baker Street after saying he saw someone, well something, fleeing one of the houses. He was convinced it was something supernatural, that it was 'his division,' as he'd said. I tried to tell him off it, but he wouldn't listen." Abby grew quiet for a minute and neither Sam nor Dean wanted to interrupt her again.

"Anyways, he'd been running down Baker Street for about two or three minutes before he suddenly disappeared and the mobile fell to the ground with a clatter," Abby's face twisted into a grimace. "I called his name over the phone but received no answer..." she trailed off and they rode in silence for a few minutes.

"Were there any other mysterious disappearances off of Baker Street recently?" Dean prompted as the silence stretched on.

Abby nodded. "Sherlock Holmes and John Watson have been reported missing as of yesterday, a few hours after I called you." Sam leaned forward in recognition.

"Wait," he said excitedly, "you mean Sherlock Holmes and John Watson as in THE Sherlock Holmes?" Abby nodded again and Sam fell back against the seat with a small huff of surprise.

"Hold on," Dean said, lifting a hand. "Who is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson? And who names their kid Sherlock anyways? That's just a horrible name," he scoffed. Sam rolled his eyes and Abby giggled a bit.

"If it makes you feel better, his brother's name is Mycroft," she added with a smile. Dean gaped.

"Mycroft? MYCROFT?! That's worse than Sherlock. That's worse than Misha." Dean turned to grin at Sam in the back. "Do you remember Misha? You know, fake-Cas from that one time? Man... It was a shame that he died."

"Sherlock Holmes is only the greatest detective of our generation," Sam began exasperated. "He uses his senses to observe and pick up on details that he then pieces together to find and convict the perpetrator. It's all on his website, The Science of Deduction." Abby snorted.

"You actually read that?"Abby asked, bewildered. Sam nodded. "It was too bloody long for me. Three sentences in and I was already asleep."

"John Watson," Sam continued, "is Sherlock's …" he seemed to struggle to find the right word, "companion, I suppose."

Abby giggled again. "There's been much speculation as to what John Watson is to Sherlock, but I don't think I've ever heard him called his 'companion.'" Sam gave Abby a withering look as she tried to stifle her laughing.

"He helps Sherlock on the cases and then documents them on his blog. It's gotten quite popular recently. I'm surprised I haven't heard about their disappearance," Sam looked at Abby the "so how did you" remaining unspoken.

"I happen to know someone who works with Detective Inspector Lestrade," Abby said smugly. "We were friends in primary school and ended up going to the same finishing school. We kept in touch and she is a reliable source if I have any inquires on questionable crimes or odd disappearances." Dean nodded in understanding. "Apparently, Mrs. Hudson, their landlady, found the flat empty, except for some odd box, and thought nothing of it. At least not until DI Lestrade came looking for their help a few hours later."

Dean nodded again. "So two soon-to-be famous detectives go missing without a trace and they keep it all hush-hush why exactly?"

"Well the aforementioned Mycroft holds a position in the British government that gives him some power in certain matters. Well all matters really," Abby gave a small laugh. "So that's how it was kept quiet. But I have no idea why."

Sam shook his head, "Why doesn't really matter at the moment. All that matters is finding Gerald for Abby and figuring this out. Let me see that file." Dean handed back the accordion folder and Sam quickly flipped through it.

The rest of the ride was silent until Abby pulled into a parking complex and turned the car off. "We're here," she said quietly.

**(A/N: Do you hear that? It's calling you again. You must give in, dear reader. Give in and REVIEW!)**


	5. Dead End

**(A/N: Still the slow bit. I'm sorry! But I promise that Sam and Dean will be taken by the end of the sixth chapter, scout's honor. Anyways, the responses and reviews I've been receiving for this story is way more than I'd imagined. XD Thank you so much for being such loyal followers! Special thanks to Doctor Whobbit, my beta, and I hope you enjoy this next chapter! :3 Feel free to review)**

The building they walked into was large and archaic. It's wide gothic windows dotted the side, but the interior was hidden in each of them by a range of different cloths, some were light sheer while others were heavy curtains. People who walked by often came to the same conclusion - strange building, strange inhabitants, and they weren't far off the mark.

Dean kept in step with Abby, but Sam paused to scan his surroundings. They were in a quieter part of London, but cabs still drove by every now and then. A few kids played on the cobble, their shouts and laughter carrying in the silence. Abby quietly pulled out a ring of keys, using the one marked with a silver "O" to let them in the front door. Following her and Dean inside, Sam shut the door securely behind them.

The three of them climbed several flights of stairs before reaching a red door labeled "5C" which Abby let them in using a key that was coloured the same as the door. Dean strode into the small flat, quickly checking each room for unwanted visitors, a habit but one that had saved them in more than one occasion. In his head, Dean both mapped out the apartment and ensured that they were alone as he made his way down the sole hall. _Kitchen, empty. Bathroom, empty. Bedroom, empty. Main room, empty. All clear._ Sam silently followed Dean into the sitting room, setting his computer bag down on the coffee table and then the accordion folder next to it.

Abby went into the kitchen saying, "Make yourselves at home, boys. We've got a good bit of work ahead of us." Sam sat on the couch, pulling out his laptop and turning it on. Dean made his way over to the recliner that faced a small television. In silent agreement, Sam passed papers over to Dean so he could go over the documents and glean important information for Sam to check, double-check, or research. Their usual researching session quickly underway, their faces flattened and concentration reigned, wrinkling their foreheads and tugging at the corners of their mouths.

There was a bit of clattering from the kitchen, followed by the sound of water pouring, and Abby sauntered down the hall moments later, taking in the sight before her. Neither Sam nor Dean looked up as she sat on the couch next to Sam. She watched with interest as the Winchesters she'd heard so much about worked like clockwork. Bobby had told her some interesting stories, one of her favorites being their first dealings with a Trickster that ended up being the Archangel Gabriel, and Sam and Dean always seemed to butt heads. But watching them now, Abby finally understood how these two brothers, so different and alike on so many levels, were considered the best hunters of their generation.

"I've got the kettle on if you'd like some tea," Abby began cautiously, clearing her throat. "Or perhaps you chaps would prefer some coffee, being American and all," she added with a small chuckle.

Dean, without looking away from the papers he was currently glaring at, said, "Coffee. Black. No sugar." Sam was a bit more responsive.

He looked up from his laptop, gave Abby a small smile, and said a bit timidly, "I've always wanted to try tea, if that's not too much trouble." Abby gave a smile in return.

"It's no problem at all," she said and stood, making her way back to the kitchen. "How'd you want it then?"

Sam, whose focus was once again on the case, said absentmindedly, "However you make it will be fine." Glancing over her shoulder, Abby saw Dean hold out a small collection of papers and Sam grab them while typing with the other hand. Shaking her head again, Abby went to the cabinet to grab three mugs.

"Just as a warning," she called out to deaf ears, "the coffee is instant."

* * *

About three hours into the research session, Sam snapped his laptop shut and leaned back, rubbing his eyes. They'd gone through about five mugs of caffeinated drink of choice each, Dean's being the gritty instant coffee and Sam's being the tea Abby fixed for him. He'd found that along with its calming effects, the British drink also helped him focus. Abby didn't directly contribute to the research, but she answered any questions asked of her and kept their cups full. Dean, taking Sam's heavy sighs as the signal for a break, threw all papers in his hands down onto the table.

Abby tucked a few stray curls behind her ear before cautiously asking, "So, what have you got?" Dean shook his head and nodded to Sam who kneaded his eyes some more.

"So far? Nothing," he spat. "We can't find any lore that matches or even is similar to what happened to Gerald. And the police report on Holmes and Watson's disappearances, although similar to Gerald, doesn't have any lore history either." Sam leaned forward again and ran his hand through his hair.

Dean rubbed his jaw, tracing his lips with his index finger and thumb. "Yeah. I'm afraid we'll have to see the scene before we try anything more drastic. Sorry, Abby. I wish we were more of a help." Abby nodded mutely, her lips pressed into a thin line.

Sam scooted down the couch till he could wrap his arm around her shoulder. He gave her a reassuring squeeze. "We'll find him, I'm sure of it. We just need to see what happened for ourselves." He gave her another half hug and Abby nodded again, a small smile gracing her lips. "Now how far away is Baker Street? Can we walk or do we need to drive?"

Abby shook her head. "It's too far to walk, and if whoever-WHATever-took Gerald is still lurking, I don't want it knowing what my car looks like." She stood, brushed the front of her jeans, and began making her way to the door. Dean and Sam followed. "We'll have to take a cab." Abby opened the door before turning back, eyes alight with something akin to rage, "But there's someone I want to talk to first."

**(A/N: Sorry for the sort-of filler episode. It's harder to get Sam and Dean where I need them. I needed to build to it. Thanks for being patient. And REVIEW!)**


	6. Elementary, My Dear Winchester

**(A/N: Here is the final chapter with them on earth. That's right. ON earth. I'll leave you to your deductions. Anywho, my poor readers have to wait on PAC, so I made this one extra long. The title of this particular chapter was the genius of my dear sister, Illisandria Carthain (that's her fanfic username. She's got some seriously awesome stories. You should check her out. :D). I hope you enjoy this. Let me know if I've made any mistakes. And feel free to review you opinions and predictions as to what happened to them. :O ENJOOOOOOOY!)**

A succession of three short raps sounded. James shuffled towards the door, grabbing his steaming mug as he walked. More knocks echoed down the hall, louder and impatient. "All right, all right," he shouted. "I'm coming!" When he reached the door, he yanked it open to find his upstairs neighbour glaring at him with two tall men standing behind her.

James gave Abby his most trusting smile which was still very sleazy. "Abigail. Dear. Hullo. To what do I owe the pleasure?" Abby grimaced and James smiled wider and leaned against the doorframe, his robe flaring open and showing a stained wife-beater and ratty, old, holey shorts. Abby gave a small harumph and began tapping her foot. James sighed and stood saying, "Fine. Come in." He sneered at Abby as she pushed past him. "You too," he spat at the two men.

They all walked into James's living room, which was surprisingly well furnished, if his appearance was anything to go on. Abby stood in the center of a shag rug, arms crossed. "James," she said with a thin lipped smile, "these are Sam and Dean Winchester."

James turned slightly and watched Sam and Dean walk over to his leather couch and sit. One, James didn't know who was who yet, had short, light brown hair that was gelled up into spikes. His eyes were large, green, and framed by long lashes. His nose had been broken, but set well so it wasn't too obvious, and he had a strong square chin. The taller of the two had long, deep brown hair that flowed to his shoulders. His eyes were hazel and his nose was long and thin. His chin was just as strong as his brother. They both noticed his gaze. The taller gave a small smile and an even smaller wave. The other fixed a harsh glare on him.

"What are you looking at?" His voice was rough. James scoffed and Abby shot him a look. "What?"

"Dean. Be nice." Oh, so that one was Dean. "You don't want to upset Jimmy here," she flashed him a smile. James ground his teeth.

"James, Abigail, please," he said with a slimy smile. Abby barked a laugh.

"Abby, Jimmy, please," she threw back with a sneer. She sighed and rubbed the bridge of her nose. "Look, we came here for a reason. I need information." James quirked an eyebrow.

"What sort of information?" he asked cautiously. Only half the people in the room were privy to the information Abby was probably talking about. James wasn't willing to say anything as long as Sam and Dean were in the room.

"We want to know if you know anything about the disappearances recently," Sam said. James looked at the tall man. He seemed more soft-spoken than this brother. James looked back to Abby.

"Disappearances?" he said innocently. "I've not heard of any disappearances." Abby turned slowly to face James again. Her eyes were wide and burning, her face as red as her curly hair. She stormed towards James.

"Don't you lie to me," she hiss, jabbing a finger at his chest. "You're a trickster. There's nothing that goes on in London that escapes your notice." Sam and Dean leapt to their feet, a mixture of surprise, anger, and fear flashing in their eyes.

"A trickster?" Dean growled, grinding his teeth together. "He's a trickster and you let him LIVE?" Both James and Abby threw him a sharp look, James's one of surprise and Abby's one of anger.

"They're hunters?" James snarled, glaring at the brothers.

* * *

Dean felt Sam's tension from here. Even though they now knew that Gabriel wasn't really a trickster, he still held some serious resentment towards tricksters in general. Dean eyed the "man" in front of him. He wasn't very tall, but he was lean and his limbs were long which gave the illusion of height.

James, Jimmy, or whatever-his-name-is stepped back, effectively putting Abby in their path. Abby glanced back at him before squaring her shoulders. Sam shifted, still tense.

"What are we doing talking to a trickster?" Dean was pissed. Monsters were monsters, there were no exceptions.

Abby heaved a sigh. "Are you kidding me? Boys. I've known Jimmy for years. He's quite harmless." Sam scoffed. "Well, mostly harmless."

"We don't let monsters live, Abby," Sam said darkly. "Especially if we know where it lives." Sam glared at James and James glared back, the worried look long gone.

Abby shook her head and pinched her nose again. "He's an informant," she cried exasperated. "Tricksters aren't malicious by nature. They just like to have a little fun. As long as Jimmy here keeps to himself, I let him live." James snorted and Abby turned to him, her temper flaring again. "Yes. I LET you live. I know plenty of hunters in the area who'd be more than happy to take you out. You're LUCKY I don't call them up right now!" James looked rightfully humbled and Abby nodded. "Now, give me the information I want or I'll let Dean and Sam here have their way with you."

James swallowed and looked nervously from Abby's hard glare to the Winchesters' cold ones. He sighed dramatically. "Fine. I'll tell you what I know." Dean sat on the couch again with a nod. Sam lowered himself a little after, tension and anger evident. "Those disappearances are like nothing I've ever seen. People are there one minute and gone the next, nowhere to be found. And I've tried." Abby nodded slowly. She'd been expecting as much. "The most recent disappearances have been from Baker Street."

"Yes," Abby said impatiently. "Baker Street. We know. Now tell us about-"

"Hang on," Sam interrupted, hold up a hand. " 'Most recent,' you said. What do you mean 'most recent'?" James looked at Sam. The kid must be sharp to catch a subtle phrase like that.

"Well disappearances like this have been occurring in areas of high population for a while now," James said, shoving his hands in his robe pockets. "From what I've seen, they've been happening since the Industrial Revolution, but back then it was less noticeable and far less frequent."

"If these disappearances have been going on for so long, how come we've only just heard about them?" Dean asked.

"Well, you have heard of them, but you've just not had the information to put them together. Take Jack the Ripper, for example. They never caught him. It was as if he'd just vanished from the face of the Earth." James paused for effect. "Which he may have."

"Wait, so all the disappearances that've remained unresolved have been the same as these disappearances?" Sam asked, running a hand through his hair.

"No, don't be ridiculous," James sneered. Stupid humans, always assuming the worst. "Not ALL of them. I've managed to work out that whoever, or whatever, is taking them have been taking people that meet certain qualifications. A large range of them, but qualifications nonetheless." James smiled, his great conclusion revealed. No one said a word. Abby looked lost in her own thoughts and Sam and Dean just stared at him.

"You've got to be kidding me," James muttered under his breath. "Can't you see? They're being taken by something not of this world!" Dean burst out laughing. "What?" James spat.

"You mean to tell me that we're not dealing with any monsters or crazy kidnapping people, but ALIENS?" Dean managed between chuckles. Sam shook his head.

"It's not that ludicrous, Dean," he said. "I mean, we deal with the unnatural every day. Why would aliens be such a stretch?"

"But Sam," Dean grinned, "aliens. Little green men. It's just not possible." James and Sam sighed.

"That's what you said about fairies," Sam muttered.

"Look," James snarled, "you wanted information. I gave you information. Whether you choose to believe me or not is your problem." He stepped to the side and gave a wide sweeping gesture towards the door. "I've told you all I have, so if you'd be so kind as to leave."

Sam stood and lightly touched Abby's arm, pulling her from wherever she went. Shaking her head, she said with a dazed expression, "Thank you Jimmy. Once again you've proved valuable." Abby nodded to James and turned to the American brothers. "Sam. Dean. Let's go to Baker street to see what we can find." Dean stood and followed Abby and Sam out the door.

James slammed it behind them. "Stupid hunters," he muttered as he went to the kitchen to make himself some tea.

* * *

"Right here's fine," Abby said loudly, tapping lightly on the glass. The cab came to a stop, pulling over to the side. Sam and Dean climbed out and surveyed the street, checking both sides of the street for mysterious activities or persons. Abby grabbed the duffle after paying the cabbie and joined them on the sidewalk. The cab drove off and Abby set the duffle down, and opened it.

She pulled out a couple of handguns, handing one to each of the Winchesters. They checked the rounds and made sure the saftey was on before putting them in the holsters. Abby closed the bag and stood, throwing the duffle over her shoulder. "Okay. So. Baker Street is that way," she pointed across the street. "This is as far as I go, though boys. I don't do," she paused with a shudder, "legwork." Dean chuckled and Sam smirked.

"We'll give you a ring if we find anything," Sam said, distractedly as he craned his neck to look down Baker Street.

"Yeah," Dean added with a smile. "It was nice meeting you, Abby. I really hope we see each other again." Dean held his arms out and waved his fingers a bit, giving another smile. Abby smirked, shook her head, and walked forward, giving Dean a squeeze.

Sam, having already jogged across the street, turned and groaned loudly before yelling, "Dean! Come on!" Dean looked over his shoulder and grinned. Sam could only roll his eyes and sigh again.

Abby broke the hug after a moment or two, and smacked Dean on the shoulder. "Go on. Find Gerald for me," she said with a small sad smile. Dean nodded and jogged across the empty street and joined Sam.

"Right," he said, pushing Sam on the shoulder. "Let's go." They marched down the street in silence. Every few seconds, Sam or Dean would turn in a circle, checking the rooftops and surrounding windows. Finally they found themselves in front of a cafe called Speedy's. To the left of the cafe was a black door with the numbers 221B. Dean looked over at Sam who nodded and then stepped up to knock.

Sam took a small step back and straightened his jacket. He and Dean were in their casual clothes. They were going to claim they were clients with a case and need to talk with Sherlock for help. They stood on the stoop for a minute or so and Sam was about to lean forward to ring the bell when the door suddenly opened and a small lady poked her head out.

"Oh, dear. How long have you boys been standing out here? Come in, come in," the lady smiled and waved them in. Sam looked back at Dean who shrugged and followed her in. They stepped into a hallway, the old woman stood at the bottom of some stairs. "Are you boys here to see Sherlock?"

Sam nodded and gave the old woman his most sincere smile. The small lady seemed sweet, if a bit flustered by the two tall Americans. "We have a problem and we're hoping Mr. Holmes would be able to help," he said.

The old lady put a hand to her mouth and made a small noise. "Oh, I'm sorry. But Sherlock and Mr. Watson aren't here right now."

Dean took a step forward. "Well when will they be back?" he asked, fixing his eyes on her.

"Oh. I'm not sure. They've been gone a few days. I think they may be helping Sherlock's brother out," the woman said with a smile. "I'm Mrs. Hudson, by the way. I'm their landlady, not their housekeeper despite what they think." She gave a small laugh and Sam smiled. Mrs. Hudson had an obvious affection for her two tenants.

"Well could you give us a call when they get back?" Sam asked, handing her a card. "We really do need help with our problem." Mrs. Hudson took the card with a smile.

"It must be a good one, then," she said looking at the number. "Sherlock will like that."

Sam and Dean smiled again. Dean clapped his hands together making Mrs. Hudson jump a bit. "Well, I'm sorry for bothering you," he said as they moved back towards the door. "We'll be on our way." Mrs. Hudson smiled and waved as they closed the door behind them.

Dean stomped down the sidewalk for a bit before turning to Sam who stood in front of 221B, hands in his pockets. "Well that was a waste of time!" Sam shook his head and frowned. Dean paced back down the sidewalk away from Sam. "Now what?"

Sam shrugged. "I don't know. I suppose we can look at where Gerald was taken and..."

"And what?!" Dean growled. He hated when Sam just randomly stopped talking. "Finish the damn sentence all..." He turned. No one was there. Sam was just gone. Like Gerald. "SAMMY!" he cried, jogging down the street. He glanced down every alleyway he passed. When he reached the end of Baker Street, he doubled back. Dean slowed to a stop in front of 221B and ran his hand through his hair. "Dammit Sam! It was right there! And we didn't even see it!"

Dean went up to Mrs. Hudson's door again and was about to knock when he heard a noise. It was a high whining sound, much like Castiel's voice, but less painful. More... soothing... He just wanted to... sleep...

**(A/N: DUN DUN DUUUUUUUUUUN! That's one hell of a cliffhanger, huh? Ehehehehe. I'm not sorry. }:])**


	7. In the Pit

**(A/N: It has finally happened. I updated this freaking story. And I know it's been forever and I'm sorry for my absence, but I was suffering from serious block. And I know it's no real excuse, but its the only one I got. I promise to try to put chapters out quicker. Please forgive me and enjoy this long awaited chapter. :3)**

Darkness swum before his eyes, light swirling into his view. Dull, muffled sounds grew louder. Voices, hisses, rumbling and the occasional bang blended together. As he drifted closer to consciousness, one voice became more prominent. He wriggled where he lay. The voice became louder, more insistent.

"Doctor..." the voice was familiar. "Doctor." _Doctor... Doctor Who_? "DOCTOR!"

The Doctor sat up, eyes wide, causing Clara to flinch back. His hands began an automatic check-up: arms, legs, neck, head. Then he noticed Clara, who was watching him carefully. Jumping to his feet, the Doctor swept her into a hug.

"CLARA!" He shouted, swinging her around once and then setting her down. He stepped back to arms length to get a good look at her. She was wearing the same clothes as when she was taken: a blue dress with a thin brown belt at the waist, some green stockings, a loose brown jacket which was probably faux leather, and some grey high-top wedges. "Not a hair out of place," the Doctor commented before pulling her into another hug.

"Doctor," a stern voice said cautiously from behind him. The Doctor turned, letting Clara loose, to see John crouching over Sherlock's still form. The Doctor dashed forward and joined John, squatting beside him. He silently put a hand on John's shoulder and squeezed slightly. They watched as Sherlock's eyes twitched beneath their lids before he inhaled sharply and opened them. The Doctor felt John relax, knowing that Sherlock was fine.

_Oh, John..._ he thought, looking at the smile that found its way onto John's face. _You're gonna have a rough time..._

Sherlock sat up, groaning and clutching briefly at his head. He let John fuss over him for a bit before swatting his hands away, muttering, "I'm fine, John." He did a quick scan of their surroundings, his eyes focusing sharply on Clara for a few moments, before looking over at the Doctor. "I see you found your companion, then," he intoned as he stood, brushing the dust off his suit. He turned towards Clara who stared up and up at the tall man. Sherlock held out a hand, "Clara Oswald, I presume." A bit shocked, she took his hand and shook it once before dropping it again.

"Doctor," she began, craning her neck to see around the Consulting Detective, "who is this?"

"Yes, right," he lightly thumped his forehead before moving to her side. "Clara this is Sherlock Holmes and John Watson," he said pointing to them respectively. "I hired their help to find you. And here you are, found," he finished with a wide smile and a small peck to Clara's forehead.

"Okay, got that," she said, her confusion evident. "But why did you need to hire a Consulting Detective? I only saw you maybe five hours ago. Plus, I knew you'd find me." The Doctor shook his head, eyes wide and sad.

John took a step forward, holding out his own hand. "The Doctor was having difficulties locating the ship that took you, so he came to us for help. I'm Doctor Watson, by the way," he added with a smile. Sherlock rolled his eyes behind him.

Clara nodded with a smile, shaking John's hand. "Yes, I know. I read your blog. You have such great adventures." She paused, looking at Sherlock and the Doctor beside them, a lopsided grin on her face. "Maybe I should start a blog..." John gave a small chuckle. Clara looked back at him, eyes still alight. "You do realise you are wearing just a robe and some underwear, right?" Obviously he didn't because his eyes dropped to his indecent attire and turned bright red, taking a step back and securing the robe around his waist.

"Yes, well..." John said shakily. He coughed and turned towards the Doctor and Sherlock, cheeks and ears still aflame. "Where exactly are we?"

Sherlock gave a tight lipped smile before turning towards the Doctor himself. "Yes, Doctor, where would you say we are? I can only deduce so much."

For the first time since waking, the Doctor actually took note of their surroundings. The floors and walls were an amalgamation of metals patched together with a mixture of welding and bolts. The walls extended a good fifteen meters above their heads and curved around them a full 360 degrees. A pit. They were in a pit. The Doctor craned his neck, looking towards the top of the pit, but could only see darkness with the occasional hiss of steam.

All around the circle that made the floor of the pit were creatures of all kinds. Creatures he hadn't seen in many regenerations. Creatures that he'd believed extinct. The Doctor felt a mixture of curiosity, confusion, joy, and anger bubble up inside of him. He did a few more quick turnarounds, his head swiveling as he rapidly turned, before facing his three companions once more.

"As far as I can tell, we're inside a big metal ship with a bunch of aliens," the Doctor explained. "Otherwise I have absolutely no idea." His grin grew wide and he craned his neck back to see the top edge of the hole they were in. "I love it when I don't know..." he murmured.

John made a small noise. "Great. Just perfect. Mr. Travel-through-space-and-time has no idea where we are. Fan_tastic!_" John's voice rose and he began to pace, arms securely folded across his chest. Sherlock watched with a small frown.

Clara stepped forward with a smile. "Actually I think I can help with that." She turned to the Doctor, her ponytail swinging. "I wasn't idle these past hours. I was gathering information." The Doctor smiled wide.

"Ah! Clara! My fantastic Clara!" He grabbed her shoulders and shook her a bit, still grinning. "You are brilliant, you are!" The Doctor let go and took a step back. "Go on then. Wow us with your detective skills."

Clara smiled briefly before growing serious again. "When I first woke up, groggy and completely confused, I sort-of..." she glanced at the Doctor then her feet before up again to her small audience, "barricaded myself against a wall. Don't give me that look. The last thing I remembered before I blacked out was the Doctor telling me to wait and then running off into the kitchen. I was confused and in a strange environment, surrounded by aliens that I didn't recognize, without the Doctor to tell me who was friendly and who I should avoid." Clara stopped for a moment, taking deep, calming breaths before beginning again.

"Anyways. After a little while, I realized that no one was really paying attention to me and came out from hiding. I began looking, _really _looking, and figuring out which aliens were safe to approach. It took maybe half an hour, but I created a small list." John looked a bit confused. "Okay, so, for example, that alien over there?" she pointed to a creature across the way.

"Hold on," John said, shuffling forward a bit and cocking his head to the side. "That's a woman. A _human _woman," he said, pointing. Clara shook her head.

"No. She's not. She's just humanoid," Clara explained. "She's a Trion named Errian." The Doctor wiggled and gave a small laugh.

"A Trion? Really?" Clara nodded. The Doctor rubbed his hands together, beaming. "Oh that's wonderful. I haven't seen a Trion in about 350 years! What clan is she from? Did she say?"

"I think she said she was from Sarn," Clara said after a moment of thought. The Doctor gave a sad smile.

"I remember Sarn. We had a bit of an issue with an overactive volcano, but thankfully we were able to help. Unfortunately it cost me Kamelion, but at least Turlough got to go home..." he trailed off, eyes unfocused as his thoughts were on a time long ago.

Clara gave the Doctor a strange look. "O-okay. Anyways, Errian came up to me when she noticed me looking and gave me most of my information. Apparently, her planet is a prison planet, although it used to be a colony, and the captain of this ship was one of the political prisoners it had housed." This caught the Doctor's attention again, pulling him out of his memories.

"What? The captain is an escaped convict? What was he in for? What's his name? Why-" The Doctor asked rapid fire.

"_Let_ me talk, Doctor!" Clara interrupted. "All in due time," she said with a smirk, patting the Doctor's head much to his chagrin. "Errian told me that we're in what's called 'The Pit.'"

"Aptly named," Sherlock commented dryly, arching an eyebrow, and John giggled lightly behind a hand.

"Apparently," Clara continued, ignoring the comment, "all 'Low lifes' are housed down here. You see, the people they pick up have to meet a certain specification, at least one out of five, and once you're aboard you get put through a number of tests to see where you rank in each category. Then your price is determined based upon those results. The worst you can be is a 'Low Life' stuck down here in the Pit. The higher your price, the better you live." Clara glanced around at the aliens milling about. "Most of the aliens down here are pretty harmless, barely worth anything."

"I'm sorry," John interrupted again, "but did you say 'price'?" Clara nodded and Sherlock's eyes widened.

"Oh..." he murmured, his lips turning upward slightly. "I see. This is a slave ship."

**(A/N: I know I made you wait, but will you please review?)**


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